it's better to have never roomed at all

i've had more roommates over the years than i can count on both hands. funny thing about them, though. it's always ended up costing me more money and aggravation having a roommate than i would have on my own. but by the time i realized that, it was already too late.

the last roommate i have had ... and will ever have, was "bananas". bananas seemed like a sweet, quiet girl. we were friends for at least two years before becoming roommates. i thought she was a perfectly normal girl and would make a great roommie. man, when i'm wrong, i'm wrong.

it started out with me driving her uhaul 1,500 miles across country because she didn't drive. i helped unload her stuff and then she told me that she was leaving for an around-the-world vacation. since she wasn't actually going to be staying in the apartment for a month while she was on her holiday, she didn't feel like she should have to pay rent to store all of those boxes and furniture. when she got back, she was too broke and exhausted from her trip to look for a job.

i've been suckered into this song and dance so many times that i at least know all of the moves.

bananas only had one hobby - watching tv. day and night. night and day. she complained that it wasn't fair that the only tv in the house was in my bedroom instead of hers. it didn't matter that it was my tv and we didn't have a living room. then she threw a fit because we didn't have cable. never mind that maybe we could have afforded cable if my roomie paid even part of the rent and bills.

they say you don't know a person until you live with them. how true! i met a side of bananas that i had never seen and didn't even think possible. when most people throw a fit, they blow off a little steam. not bananas. she would scream for hours, throwing things, slamming doors. curse like a sailor. it didn't matter if anyone was in the same room or even same building, she would carry on the argument as if they were right there.

now imagine - this girl was about 4 feet 6 inches tall. she might have weighed 80 pounds. at 21, she looked about 12. she knew how to work the sweet, innocent child act. her idea of a curse word was "phooey" and she wouldn't even wear sweat suits or jeans around the house because she dressed like she was going to sunday school 24/7. she was a perfect little china doll, much like the psychotic child in interview with a vampire. when she got mad, everything changed. she would throw things that probably weighed as much as she did. she would jump on things - cabinets, cars, stereos - anything that she could climb on top of. and the vile filth that spewed at top volume out of her mouth got the cops called out to the apartment more than once by terrified neighbors.

the cops would roll up and ... poof ... bananas was a tiny, crying child and i was the big bad monster who had trashed the house. if she had hurt herself during the tirade, then i was the meenie who had bruised and abused her. i'm lucky i didn't spend any time in jail. i think what saved me was the time that they showed up and could hear her arguing...but i wasn't even home.

why did i put up with her as long as i did? i don't know. maybe i was a sucker for the china doll act, too, even though i knew the truth of it. none of our mutual friends believed me. in fact, most of them were not speaking to me because she told them all of the horrible things i supposedly did to her. finally, i gave up. it had been two months and she hadn't paid a penny in rent or bills. i hadn't had a moment's rest between her tirades and her watching my tv at full volume all through the night in my room.

but before i could kick her out, my landlord outdid us. she kicked us both out. gave us a month's notice because the neighbors were complaining about bananas. relieved that i didn't have to be the bad guy, i started looking for a new apartment. something so tiny and cheap that i would never need a roommate again. in the meantime, i was sleeping at a friend's house because i couldn't stomach putting up with her for another day.

i came home one night to pack up in preparation for the move and was horrified at what i found. all of my dishes were smashed. cd and movie collection destroyed. there was a hammer stuck through my tv. the radio was smoldering. my clothes, mattress, and pillows were shredded. my shoes were filled with a certain solid bodily fluid. and to add insult to injury, there was a death threat tacked to my bedroom door.

i wasted no time changing the locks. when she came home and couldn't get in, she broke a window. the cops came, took one look at the damage and read the death threat (which she conveniently signed!), and put her in the back of a squad car. i used all of the boxes i no longer needed because most of my earthly possessions were destroyed and i filled them with everything she owned. i made sure at least one very smelly shoe (after all it was her shit in them!) was in each box. i put the boxes by the dumpster and called one of her friends to let them know where to pick up her belongings and what station they could find her at.

the next day, the boxes were gone and there was gum in all of the new locks, but she was out of my life. none of our old friends were talking to me except to leave obscene messages on my answering machine, because no one could believe that sweet, little bananas could have done anything wrong. i just laughed because bananas was their problem now.

i moved the next week and never gave out the address or phone number. i was in a different state, physically and mentally. i haven't seen bananas since then but occasionally have fantasies that she's rotting in a state mental facility, having long arguments with herself.

the day i met my husband

it was december 31st, 1999. “mr. wonderful” was half-convinced that the world would fall into chaos on y2k. he didn’t want to take any chances. he loaded up his car with food and water and decided that the best way to spend the last day of the millennium was alone, in the wilderness, far away from society.

instead, he ended up in manhattan.

his best friend, “bread monkey”, his wife “mary lou”, and their friend “chevy” were headed for bread monkey’s brother’s apartment in new york and dragged mr. wonderful along with them. they get to the brother “dwight’s” house, where they pick up bread monkey’s grandmother “mama” and dwight’s boyfriend “big gay al” and head into the city.

in the meantime, i’m in my itsy bitsy one room apartment in alphabet city. i was adding green and purple streaks to my newly platinum hair when my pager went off. i didn’t have a phone, so i went to the corner payphone, the hair dye still sitting in my goopy hair. it was my best friend, dwight, telling me that a whole troupe of friends and family had shown up on his doorstep and they all wanted to celebrate the new years downtown, preferably around my place.

i wasn’t in the best mood. because of y2k, i was expected to work that night. the last thing i wanted was a bunch of people to have a blast at my place while i was stuck at work. not to mention, green hair dye was starting to drip down my shoulders. “sure, whatever. you have a key. i gotta go to work but i should be off soon after midnight. i’ll come find you guys if you’re still out partying.”

i finished my hair, dressed for work, and ran out to do a little bit of shopping. toilet paper. sodas. chips. donuts. oj. i walked down the stairs into my basement apartment, my arms laden with groceries. it was a bright day outside and the lights in the hall were broken as usual. as i stumbled into the basement, i caught a glimpse of a man silhouetted by the back door as he walked right into my apartment.

imagine coming home to watch a very tall, broad shouldered, perfectly proportioned man wearing a worn leather cowboy hat breaking into your house. my first thought wasn’t “i’m being robbed” or “i hope they don’t kill me” but rather “damn that’s a pretty man”.

before i could get too worried, i heard voices and realized that dwight was early and had already settled into my apartment. this must be one of the guys he brought. fortunately, the apartment was tiny and was now stuffed to the gills with eight people so accidentally brushing up against the cowboy, mr. wonderful, was not difficult, especially in the sliver of the kitchen.

but alas they didn’t want to stay in my crowded kitchen. they wanted to go party and i had to go to work. as i walked them to a nearby bar, i couldn’t help but throw myself at mr. wonderful. i’ve never been the type of person to do that, especially to a guy that i had just met. however, he was only in town for one night and i was infatuated. so i flirted like my life depended on it.

as soon as i get to work, my on-again-off-again boyfriend “the lumberjack” calls. he’s changed his mind. he, too, had to work that night but he hadn’t wanted to go out after we both got off. now he wanted to take me out. “no dice. i’ve made other plans and the man of my dreams is waiting for me in the west village.” funny how even off-again boyfriends don’t like hearing that you have a date with another man. when i got off work a few hours early, he was waiting for me in the lobby, determined to go out with us.

fine. he could come, i didn’t care. we met up with my friends at a bar on houston. introducing mr. wonderful to the lumberjack was a little awkward, but what can you do? the night progressed and i was pleasantly amused to watch them try to each win my affections from the other. at one point i found myself in my apartment with just the lumberjack, mr. wonderful, mama, and big gay al. mr. wonderful was sitting in the corner, nearly passed out for the copious amounts of liqueur he had consumed.

suddenly, he stood up, tossed his cowboy hat onto my bed, stumbled out of my apartment, out the backyard, and started throwing up in the courtyard. it wouldn’t have been so bad except my apartment’s only windows were open and facing the courtyard. a nice breeze carried the sounds and smells right into my bedroom. the lumberjack turned to me with an “i win” grin on his face. “tell me you still find that guy attractive now,” he smirked.

“actually, i still want him,” i answered.

the world didn’t end at midnight on y2k. planes didn’t drop out of the sky. power plants didn’t blow up. the world kept spinning. my world, however, wasn’t so unscathed. mr. wonderful went back to his military base 500 miles away. the man who would become my husband had left and i didn’t even have so much as a phone number for him. but i knew that wasn’t the end of it. it couldn’t be.

a very good place to start

i guess i should start at the very beginning so there is some basis for the loops and flashbacks and tangents that will follow.

i almost died before i was born. my very pregnant maternal egg donor (here on out referred to as “she-devil”) was riding shotgun on my paternal sperm donor (here on out referred to as “the amazing invisible man”)'s motorcycle. they got hit by a truck.

not a wimpy little "i live in the suburbs and i have to drive a truck to pick up groceries" pickup but an 18-wheeled monstrosity. the amazing invisible man went one way, the she-devil went another, and the bike went under at least 4 tires before reverting back to protoplasm. the amazing invisible man went to check on the bike first.

growing up, the crushed motorcycle helmet from that accident always had a place of honor on the 'family' mantle. it was the reminder to us kids of why we weren't allowed near motorcycles. it was also a constant reminder that the fun and recreation of my parental units was more important than the health and welfare of their spawn.

from that point forward, i loved motorcycles...but hated helmets.

what does this little incident tell you about me? a lot. i have a weird ability to get entangled in horrible situations and come out unscathed (mostly). my parental units will never get any mother or father of the year awards. and if someone tells me i can't have something, it's the only thing i want.